


Submission

by Dubistsehrschon



Series: Momentz [1]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28630296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dubistsehrschon/pseuds/Dubistsehrschon
Summary: This is based on a brainstorm I had a few days ago.  The story is set on an American campus in an alternate universe. Professor Hewlett is in his early thirties, an assistant professor. And Damon is a sophomore Fine Arts major who is struggling financially.  I'll make it up as I go along. Serious triggers. Readers beware.
Relationships: Damon Albarn/Jamie Hewlett
Series: Momentz [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104083
Comments: 22
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roomeight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roomeight/gifts).



Shit. If I’m late again I’m gonna be screwed for real this time.

I slam my car into the tiny space on the parking lot in the twilight, ignoring the side view mirror I manage to knock off from the brown Taurus parked to my right before bolting towards Monroe Hall. I meant to arrive on time but the cashier at the croissant shop just quit without notice and the boss said I had to stay to close shop if I wanted to keep my job. So here I am, missing the entire class but still hopeful to catch the professor before his office hour ends. 

He is just turning the key to the office door when I sprint my way up the stairs. I am bent over, hands on knees, gasping for air when he turns around and peers at me from above his frames. “Can I help you?”

I look up and his eyes narrow. 

“Professor Hewlett,” I go, “I’m terribly sorry that I missed your class today. And I understand I’ve also missed the deadline of the mid-term essay. Is there some way I could make it up to you?”

“And you are?”

“Albarn. Damon Albarn. I’m from the Department of Fine Arts, second year.”

“Mr. Albaan,” he goes, missing the r in his typical British accent, “I don’t recall seeing you in my class at all. Are you sure I’m the professor you’re seeking?”

“Um,” I stammer, “I may have missed a couple of your classes this semester.”

“More like all the them.” Still missing the r. Why do I notice this?

“Look,” I plead, “I’m really sorry. But I have this part-time job that I can’t afford to lose. I figured if I could catch up with the assignments I might still have a chance. After all it’s too late to drop the course now that we’re half way through the semester.” 

“So?”

“So please don’t flunk me?” I peer at him from under my lashes.

He looks at me up and down before the upturned corners of his mouth widen into a grin, then he bursts out laughing, holding his stomach and gasping. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m reminded of an old joke. It’s terribly rude of me to keep you standing here. Do come in.”

I see a glimmer of hope as I follow him into the office.

“No, no, no, please leave the door open.”

I sit down in front of his desk.

“Mr. Albarn, I understand it is difficult to balance work and study for an undergraduate. But I don’t feel comfortable to let you pass on the sole ground of compassion. After all, I have other students in my class who work very hard. And granting you special treatment seems a little…unfair.”

My eyes well up. I carefully adjust my gaze so tears stay on my lower lashes as long as possible. 

He sighs, “Here is a list of all the assignments of the semester. If you can manage to hand them in on a weekly basis and complete the list before the term ends, I might consider giving you a C+.”

I hold my gaze, this time letting the tears drop, one at a time.

He sighs again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “B- even, if you do your research well. I’m not a monster.”

“Thank you, professor. It means a lot.” I crack my voice just a little to be noticeable. 

He sighs for the third time. Why does he look so tired?

The hall is completely deserted as we leave the building. And as we walk side by side to the parking lot an ominous premonition starts to build up in my stomach. There are only two cars left on the parking lot under the harsh street light. One is my battered F-150 pick-up truck; the other, the nondescript brown Taurus.


	2. Chapter 2

“Normally this is the point where we exchange insurance info,” He says, “but I suppose you have other suggestions?”

I cast my eyes down to study my shoelaces. 

He clears his throat. 

“Erm my insurance expired last week and I haven't renewed it.”

That sigh again. I almost feel guilty.

I keep my head down and listen to the dial tone of his cell. A few moments later he gets off the phone.

“There's a body shop 3 miles away where I can drop my car. Can I count on you to give me a lift home?” 

“Sure, the least I can do.”

He nods and gets into his car, which I dutifully follow to the body shop.

His sits expressionlessly on the shotgun seat of my truck as I venture a question before I start the engine, “Can I buy you dinner？”

He raises an eyebrow. 

“I'm starved and I know a diner close by with great muffins.”

A nod. 

The diner is pretty much deserted at this hour as I lead him to my favorite booth. He orders a coffee and scrambled eggs. Now why would anyone put 4 sugar cubes in one coffee？

I finish my food and he's still pushing half of the eggs around the plate.

“Excuse me but do you mean to eat that.”

“I'm full.”

I grab his plate and finish the rest of the eggs. I'm paying for this and I can't let food go to waste.

He raises both eyebrows but says nothing.

I ask for the check and there goes the remainder of my cash.

He gives me the address and lean back into the seat, eyes closed. I drive in silence, and then I slow down. He opens his eyes to see the fuel light on my dashboard.

“There's a gas station on Main St. and 2nd.”

I stop at the gas station and sit in silence.

He doesn't sigh this time. Instead he rolls his eyes up for five whole seconds before getting off to pay for the gas. I almost feel sorry for him. 

I pull up to a 2-storey house with white fences in the front. He opens his eyes again from the seat, stifles a yawn, thanks me and gets off.

I'm dozing on and off when I hear someone rapping the side window.

“Why are you still here?”

He looks 5 years younger in a gray hoodie without the glasses. I notice he has aquatic blue eyes, a shade darker than my own. 

“My landlord is renovating?”

He closes his eyes as if he's indecisive. And a moment later, “Come inside.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend compares Damon in this AU to a Beagle. Similarities？

His living room looks clean and tidy, almost too cozy for a bachelor. Or is he? I don’t recall seeing him wear a ring.

“You can use the sofa while you stay here,” he goes, “the loo is upstairs. If you decide to take a shower please do it before 1 a.m. And my bedroom is off limits. I do value my privacy.”

“’Kay.” I sit down on the couch and watch him pour cat kibble into a bowl and water into another. He then starts to change cat litter.

“You have a cat? Where?”

“He’s a bit shy, but you’ll see him soon enough.” He sits down on the other end of the couch, and a moment later an orange tabby quietly jumps onto his lap.

I watch him scratch beneath the cat’s chin as he purrs happily. “What’s his name?”

“Dermot Oblong.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just a joke an old friend told me. He doesn’t respond to that name anyway.”

“What does he respond to, Kitty? Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.” The cat doesn’t even move his ears.

“Nothing. He comes and goes as he pleases. That’s what l like about cats. Dogs are too much burden emotionally. They act so happy around you and you feel obliged to…” He trails off. 

“To what?”

“Never mind. It’s late. I have morning classes tomorrow.” He starts to stand up and the cat slinks off his lap towards me so I reach out to scratch behind his ears. 

“Don’t…”

A hiss. 

I look down to see beads of crimson seeping through the three parallel scratches on the back of my hand. 

“Sorry. I forgot to warn you he’s not very friendly. Please wait here while I find the first-aid kit.”

He returns with rubbing alcohol, cotton balls and a band-aid. “Don’t worry. He’s had all his shots. You won’t catch anything from him.”

I wince as he rubs alcohol on the wound. “Where did you adopt him, a shelter?”

“He sort of adopted me in a way. I left my window open one day and he came in. Somehow this became a habitual behavior and then…”

“Then you kept him?”

“Not before I had him neutered and locked indoors properly so he doesn’t go out to prey on other critters.”

I feel a chill on the back of my neck. For some reason I don’t think he’s only talking about the cat.

“There. All taken care of.” He patted the back of my hand. His fingers are long, slim and very soft. I suddenly wonder how they taste and feel like in my mouth, or…

He stands up. I stand up. My face is within inches of his, so close I can see the crows-feet around his soft, tired blue eyes. I make my move. 

I slowly push him back into the couch and climb onto his lap. I kiss his neck and reach between his legs. Then he grabs my hand and gently but firmly pushes it away.

His eyes are tired, calm, even a bit sad. And he sighs, “Mr. Albarn…”

“Mr. Albarn. I took you in on a purely compassionate ground, something I would expect from a fellow human being when I were in distress. After all, November has come. I certainly would not want you to freeze outside. But I’m not expecting any…favors from you. I hope I’m understood.” He glances at my ears, which are burning hot right now.

“If you would excuse me, I’ll take a shower and go to bed. I have morning classes tomorrow and I’d appreciate a lift to school. The bathroom is yours in 30 minutes.” He goes upstairs. 

Well. He didn’t say he’s not into men, did he?

…  
I wake up at four with cold sweat on my forehead, my heart racing. I quietly get off the couch and steal upstairs to try the bedroom door. 

It’s locked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. I have no self control or shame. This is the perfect way to procrastinate from doing actual work. I'm doomed. Also I would love more comments, plz？

He peers at me from above his frames, sitting behind his desk. 

“Have you ever heard of proofreading?”

I open my mouth to answer, then think better of it. 

“This is not something I would even expect from a middle school student.”

“I have dyslexia?” I happily volunteer. 

There it is, the glare. I love it. 

He inhales deeply, “Mr. Albarn, I wonder if you have entertained a career path in fictional writing, because you are so immersed in it, the fabrication of fiction.”

I grin.

“Well don’t. You’ll starve as a writer. I’m more than positive of it.” He removes his glasses to massage between his eyes with his thumb and index finger. I stare. And then I make my move.

He gropes for his glasses for a few seconds and then looks up to find them on my face. 

“Would you stop doing that?”

“What?”

“The tricks. The…seduction. You are a very attractive individual, but I really could do without such treatment. I’m not expecting anything from you. You don’t owe me anything. I thought I made myself understood.”

“I think you’re the one misunderstanding the situation.”

He furrows his eyebrows in clear confusion. 

“I’m not doing this because I feel…obliged. I want to sleep with you because you’re HOT.”

He gapes at me for a whole minute. I swear I could hear the gears squeaking in his head. 

After some visible effort he finally regains his composure. It’s such a shame. I’d love to have him do me on this desk. I’ve fantasized about this. In fact I fantasize about it ALL THE TIME. 

“Mr. Albarn, I fear you are not accustomed to utilizing your…intellectual faculties, correct?”

“If by that you mean I don’t think much, you’re right.” I will not let him break the eye contact.

“You do realize this is my office, and I could lose my job simply because of this conversation. If I remember correctly you have an afternoon shift at the croissant shop yes? You’re free to go. I have a whole class worth of essays to grade, and I would really want my peace of mind back.” He closes his eyes and waves in exhaustion. 

…

I unlock the front door with my spare key to find him dozed off on the couch, an ungraded essay still clutched in hand. It’s funny how he still manages to frown in his sleep. I set my backpack on the floor, crawl onto the couch, and rest my head on his lap. 

Five minutes later he stirs with an audible inhalation. I feel his thigh tense as he discovers me. He remains still, trying to regulate his breath. I patiently wait. 

Something heavy is on my stomach. 

It’s the cat. 

I grit my teeth as Dermot walks across my chest, and then my face, to burrow in Jamie’s lap. He proceeds to lick his paws after purring and rubbing against Jamie's hand for 2 whole minutes. I remain still.

Then his tail is in my face. 

I sneeze. 

…

I wake up screaming, trying to get out of the grip of some unknown monster. Then I find it’s Jamie shaking me by the shoulders. He is very pale and very shaken, and with his brown hair hanging in front of his eyes he looks almost my age. I bury my face against his chest, then my racing heart slowly calms down as it synchronizes with his heartbeat. 

He smells really nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will dab into the nightmares in the next chapter. If you are not comfortable with the warnings now is the time to abandon ship. I'm not kidding.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any discomfort this may cause. I don't take pleasure in writing this, but for the sake of the plot this has to happen. READ the WARNING tags before you proceed.

“Will you ever learn?” He hooks his thumb into the corner of my mouth and pulls, hard. 

“How many times have I told you to open wide? Use that pretty mouth of yours!”

Tears stream down my cheek as he thrusts himself in my mouth, inside out, inside out. My eyes turn glassy. 

As he releases against the back of my throat I gag, and my front teeth accidentally scrap the tip of his head when he’s pulling out. 

“Sssssttt, you stupid little whore.” He slaps across my face with the back of his hand, and my head hits the wall with a loud crack. 

“Now turn around and show me that ass!” He pulls me up by the collar and forces me face down onto the bed. I close my eyes as he penetrates me, a whimper escaping my throat. 

He puts his hands around my neck and slowly chokes me, “Shh, we don’t want your mother to find out about our little secret, do we?”

“Do we?” This time he thrusts all the way in. 

That’s how I learn, the need to remain silent. I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way, too, like making the first move. If I move first no one can claim they’ve forced me. 

If only the nightmares could stop. 

…

Jamie has set up a camp cot by the couch. He comes down every night so as to wake me whenever I cry out in my sleep. And he gives these amazing hugs. I wish he could hug me like that in the day. 

I apprehend all the questions he might ask, like the staff in foster care did, but he never probes. 

…  
My birthday arrives in January, and he finally agrees to go to a bar to celebrate with me. I even get to pick the bar, so of course I bring him to the place I want to show him off most. 

He appears surprisingly at ease, navigating his way across the dance floor and ordering drinks without breaking a sweat. He even smiles at me as I hook arm with him. I’m walking on clouds. 

“Well look who’s here.” I freeze.

“Celebrating your birthday eh? Remember all the gifts I showered you with, you ungrateful little whore?”

I want to turn around and throw myself at him, to punch his sneering face, even to claw his eyes out maybe, but I’m paralyzed like a deer caught in the headlight, shaking all over. 

“I’d like you to leave my friend alone, mister.” 

“Who the fuck are you? Another sugar daddy? Did you know he’ll blow you for a song? I’m afraid you’re getting short-changed here, MISTER.”

Jamie delivers a single blow on his Adam’s apple, causing him to bend over coughing, clawing at his own throat. He then casually shrugs off his black leather jacket and hands it to me, proceeding to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his burgundy shirt, exposing the tattoos that cover both his forearms. 

“If you could kindly step outside with me, mister, I’m more than willing to sort this out in private. What do you say?”

He skulks away as fast as he could, like the coward he is. 

Jamie puts his arm around my shoulder and gently squeezes, “Let’s go home.”

As he turns on the light in the living-room I suddenly notice the biggest tattoo on his forearm is Olive from Popeye. I burst out laughing until tears roll down my cheeks. 

He waits until I finally catch my breath, then he gently takes my hand, “Come upstairs, I want to show you something.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it then, a happy ending. I didn't know I was capable of happy endings, but here we are.

He unlocks his bedroom door and walks in behind me. 

It’s very much like his living room, maybe with a stronger scent of his cologne. I notice the acoustic guitar leaning by the nightstand. 

“I didn’t know you played.”

“It isn’t mine.”

He runs his fingers thoughtfully across the smooth surface of the instrument, before picking up the silver frame on the nightstand. 

A younger version of Jamie grins at me from the photograph. He has his arm around the shoulder of a younger man with cornflower blue eyes and ruby lips. Judging from Jamie’s face in the photo this man could be around 30 now. His jaw is slightly wider than mine, but even the most skeptical person could not deny his beauty. 

“Is this your boyfriend from England?”

“He was an undergraduate when I was in my doctoral programme at Oxford. I was TA in a course he had. That’s how I knew him.

“He was smart and humorous, and we became friends instantly. Sometimes he would show up at my door and ask for temporary accommodation, which I happily obliged. But he turned out to be rather…clingy over time, often demanding my full attention at the most inconvenient of times. It was not soon before he claimed that he loved me.

“Naturally I turned him down because of…conflict of interest. I said we should wait until either of us graduated, or at least when he had finished the course. He said he understood. 

“Then one evening he turned up at my doorstep again and asked to spend the night. I let him in as usual, but he made…moves at me. I said no. I was trying to finish my dissertation at the time. I wasn’t paying attention.

“He was still asleep when I left home, which was not unusual. But upon return I discovered him in my bathtub. He had slit both his wrists.”

I gasp. 

“He had every sign of clinical depression. He was being abused by a family member and ran away, according to the letter he left behind. Thanks to that letter I was cleared of all suspicions. But I couldn’t stay in England after graduation. It was too much.

“When I saw you outside my office last November, you reminded me of him.”

My eyes suddenly feel very hot. I try to swallow but there’s a lump in my throat that wouldn’t budge. 

“You can call it guilt or attempts of redemption, but over time I find myself growing extremely fond of you. I’m certain of this now.”

I stop breathing. 

“But there’s still a conflict of interest because clearly,” he casts his eyes down as he rolls down his sleeves, “I’m your professor, and my professional ethic is rather strong, believe it or not.” There’s a shade of pink on his pale cheeks. 

He looks up at me, “If you agree to do this, we do this properly. I’ll turn in my resignation as soon as school resumes. And we need to find you a psychiatrist. I won’t force you to stay in a ward, but it’s better to have some professional help, to talk to, you understand.”

His soft blue eyes are on mine, but I can’t see him through all these tears. For the first time since I ran away from home, I don’t know what to do. 

When he wraps his arms around me, I wail so loud I wonder to this day why none of the neighbors has called the police. 

And the sex is AMAZING. I have all my wishes fulfilled, and then some more. 

…

The next morning as he turns on his laptop to type the resignation letter, I stop him. 

“I’ll drop out. I don't have much future as a fine artist anyway.”

He peers at me from above his frames again, “This is the wisest thing I have ever heard from you, Mr. Albarn. But what are your plans for the future?”

“I’ll try to start a career as an influencer on Tik-tok or Instagram. I’m that beautiful you know.”

“Brilliant. Do you have a backup plan?”

“You.”

He smiles. The smile widens into a grin and he subsequently bursts out laughing, holding his stomach and gasping. 

“What?”

“I suddenly realized that if this were a piece of fiction, the writer must be really lousy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can recognize lazy writing as soon as I see it. And I wouldn’t give it anything above C+.”

“Not an A for the happy ending?”

“B- maybe, for the sheer amount of sick aesthetics.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in case you're wondering about the title, its for the submission of assignments, obviously.


End file.
